May I?
by DesireLaughs
Summary: This is going to be a four part series about Sherlock and John. Based off the song "May I" by Trading Yesterday. "May I?" Sherlock asked. John stared at him. "May you what?" Rating may go up.
1. Hold You

John was having an awful day. It started with a case- as it usually does. Sherlock was excited, bouncing about in his usual way when a case comes by. "Murder, John!" he exclaimed. "Oh, yes, this is wonderful!"

John was also happy for the case. Sherlock was no longer sulking about! That was always something to be happy about. Before Lestrade sent him a text, Sherlock had been sulking about for days. Murders usually mean excitement and danger, which was good for both men, anyhow. May not be decent, but it was fun.

But when they got to the murder site, John was no longer happy about the case. It was someone like him who had been murdered. Someone who had been through war. The room around had clues of his ex-military status- the cleanliness, the way the clothes were folded, the medals. Then there was the man himself. His was big. His hair was in a military cut. Small things like that. John could always recognize a fellow soldier.

"Looks like a gun wound," Lestrade had said.

"Yes," Sherlock agreed. "It does look like that. John?"

John walked stiffly over to the body. It was an awful sight. It reminded him of things he had seen in Afghanistan. Of course, he had seen worse, but this was disgustingly similar. A military man, shot. Something about the blood, though, made this different. "He was shot after he was dead?" he guessed.

"Yes, very good. It appears that the murderer had suffocated the victim. It was someone he knew then." Sherlock was quiet, thinking. Then, as usual, he solved the murder with a series of deductions and they found the killer hiding in the backyard tool shed.

When they got home, John when straight for the couch, not even making a cup of tea for himself and Sherlock.

The bullet hole and the ex-soldier. It was stuck in John's brain. He couldn't shake the gut-wrenching feeling he was having.

He felt shaken.

He felt alone.

And then, suddenly, Sherlock sat next to him on the couch. "May I?" he asked.

John just stared at him. "May you what?"

Sherlock didn't answer. Instead, he held out his arms, and waited. Without thinking, John leaned into him.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around the doctor. "It's late, John. Sleep."

John closed his eyes. Everything was fine. He was fine.

He fell asleep in Sherlock's arms for the first time that night.


	2. Love You

When John woke up, Sherlock was already gone. He had been covered with a blanket, though, which, he assumed, was Mrs. Hudson's doing.

Or possibly not, seeing as it was Sherlock's blanket and not even Mrs. Hudson would go into Sherlock's room. No telling what was in there. Mrs. Hudson had once told him that she found an arm in there, and never went back in because of it. John never even went in- he saw enough body parts on cases. And in the oven, the microwave, the refrigrator, the bathroom sink and tub- those weren't allowed anymore, because John wanted the bathroom clean, thank you very much- and, once, the toaster.

They now had a new toaster.

John sat up, looking around the sitting room, then into the kitchen. No sign of Sherlock. In fact, it looked like Sherlock had moved out. The kitchen table was almost spotless. No sign of experiments.

John got up and traveled to the kitchen. The only thing on the table was his phone. Nothing in the sink, either.

John looked at his phone. It buzzed.

_Out. Will be back soon. -SH_

Of course.

So, John continued about his day, reading, making and drinking tea, watching some crap telly- until he got another text in the evening.

_Need help. Come quickly. -SH_

John stared at his phone. _Where?_ he typed back.

The address came not even a second after, and John was out the door and calling a cab. Sherlock needed his help, and he was going to help. There was no telling what sort of trouble the detective had gotten into this time.

When he got to the address, Sherlock was waiting outside. "What do you need help with?" John questioned.

"Nothing," Sherlock responded. "I simply wanted you to hurry. Come on, then. We're a bit late."

"Late?"

Sherlock ignored him, and they stepped in to the building. Right away they were greeted, and John then realized that this was a restaurant.

"Sherlock, why are we here?"

"I made reservations, John, do keep up."

They were lead to a private room, and were given wine. "I'll be back in a few minutes to take your order, Mr. Holmes."

"Thank you," Sherlock responded, not even glancing at the woman. He took his glass into his hand and sipped at the wine.

"Sherlock, what's going on?"

"I told you."

"No, you said that you made reservations. Not why. Usually you only do this is we're on a case, but seeing as we've got a private room..." John trailed off.

"I just wanted to take you out for dinner."

The statement left John stumped. Sherlock, wanting to do something nice for someone? Well, there was always a first for everything, he supposed, but why?

And the kitchen this morning. Nothing. Spotless. Was that Sherlock's doing as well?

"How was your day?" Sherlock asked.

"My what? Sherlock, are you making small talk?"]

Sherlock frowned. "I was attempting, but you aren't going along with it."

"Right, sorry," John muttered. What was going on? This wasn't like Sherlock at all. John picked up his wine and took a few large gulps from it.

Sherlock mirrored him, but taking sips instead of gulps. When he put down his glass he looked at John and asked, "What do you plan on ordering? I'm paying, get whatever you like."

"Oh, um- Sherlock, what the bloody hell is this? Is this- is this menu in French?"

Sherlock nodded. "I just order for us both, then. I think I know what you'll like."

The waitress came back, and Sherlock ordered the entire meal in flawless French. It was beautiful.

John finally gave in, sick of the silence, and started up some small talk. Soon, they were chatting as usual, none of the awkward that was present before remaining.

Soon enough, their food was placed in front of them, and, Sherlock was right, of course, John loved it. And Sherlock finished his entire meal for once, which was also quite pleasing.

When they finished, Sherlock payed, and they left the building, entering a cab that was, apparently, waiting for them.

The way home was quiet. Neither of them said anything. When they arrived at Baker Street, Sherlock wouldn't allow John to pay for the cab, either. They walked up together to their flat, and sat down on the couch again.

"Sherlock, when did you leave this morning?"

"About 15 minutes before I sent you a text."

John nodded.

There was silence between them for a few minutes, then Sherlock broke it. "It was difficult to get up without waking you, but, somehow, I managed."

"So, last night, we..."

"Slept together, yes."

John nodded to himself. "Thank you, Sherlock. For comforting me. I know that's not really your area."

Sherlock didn't respond. Instead, he turned to face John completely. John copied him, so that they were face to face.

Sherlock leaned in. "May I?" he questioned, his eyes flickering down towards John's lips, then back up to meet his eyes.

This time John didn't have to ask. He just nodded and breathed a quiet, "God, yes," and their lips met.

It was clumsy, at first. Their teeth knocked together a few times, neither man knew where to put his hands, and their noses where much too close together. But then John tilted his head to the right and their lips slid together perfectly. When they broke apart, they still stayed connected, foreheads pressed together.

Sherlock took a shaky breath, and John let out a small laugh. They smiled at each other.

"Your face is warm," Sherlock whispered.

"I know," John sighed.

At the moment, only their foreheads were connected. They closed their eyes, and let themselves be still, just letting their breath mingle. Then, once again, their lips slid together, and Sherlock put one hand behind John's neck, to pull him closer, and his other hand grasped John's forearm. John soon followed Sherlock's example, and his fingers tangled themselves into Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock could feel John's heart racing, and he was sure that John could feel Sherlock's as well. It was a long awaited moment. The two of them, tangled up in each other, trying to get closer and closer.

They broke apart again, keeping their hands in place. "You're too far," Sherlock whined.

"I'm right next to you."

Sherlock shook his head, disagreeing. "You're upper body is right next to me."

John glanced down, and chuckled. "Alright, alright," he said softly, scooting closer. "Better?"

"Much." And then their lips were together again. John wasn't expecting it this time, and their noses bumped, again. Sherlock tilted his head this time, and opened his mouth a bit. John did the same and, finally, their tongues met. This time it was short. Sherlock pulled back and put his head into the crook of John's neck. "I love you," he breathed against John's neck.

A shiver ran down John's spine. "I-I love you, too, Sherlock."

Sherlock pulled back from John's neck and looked into his eyes. "May I?" he purred.

"Yes," John breathed, in reply.

They kissed again and again, and they eventually fell asleep together for the second time.


End file.
